


One Shot

by ArtisticRainey



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Mild Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisticRainey/pseuds/ArtisticRainey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gordon hates needles. More than that, he hates being a failure. Today, he might have to face both of these things. A request from parmalik on fanfiction.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Shot

It was his first mission. His _first_ mission. And already, he’d managed to be a total screw up.

Gordon limped as he walked. Each step sent fresh barbs of pain up through the sole of his foot and after ten more steps, it was too much to bear. He leaned against a half-crumbled wall, inhaling clouds of masonry dust, and lifted his foot up.

Yes, there it was. The symbol of his idiocy: a hole in the bottom of his dive boot. The hole itself wasn’t the problem. It was what had caused it: a nail. A _rusty_ nail at that. It had been driven right up through the thick rubber bottom of his dive boots, leaving behind what he assumed was a nasty puncture would.

_Goddammit_ , he thought. _How the heck did I manage to do that, anyway?_

How long the thing was, Gordon didn’t know. All that mattered was that it was long enough to penetrate the soft skin of his foot – and it hurt like _hell_.

“ _Virgil to Gordon_.”

His brother’s voice crackled over the comm. Silently cursing, Gordon set his foot down and lifted his hand to press the inlaid IR on his sash.

“Yeah, Virg?” he asked.

“ _Mission’s been accomplished, little brother_ ,” Virgil said. “ _We need to hot-foot it out of here. Where are you_?”

Gordon winced at the unfortunate turn of phrase.

“I’m on my way back now, Thunderbird Two,” he said. “Be right there.”

“…alright.”

There was a definite edge of suspicion to Virgil’s voice. Gordon chose not to comment on it. Instead, he limped his way back to the huge green craft, straightening to hide his injured foot as he drew closer. _This is going to be a looooong trip home_ , he thought.

** ~oOo~ **

****

It was a point of honour among the Tracy brothers never to admit when they were hurt. It was also incredibly stupid, Gordon knew, but facts were facts. On the journey home, he had tried his best to engage Virgil in polite conversation but it became apparent that he was parodying himself, so he pretended to sleep instead.

By the time they were back and it came to taking his boot off, the pain was bringing him out in a cold sweat. In the little locker room, he slid down onto the bench and bit his lower lip as he brought his foot up to rest on the opposite knee.

_Shit, shit, shit…_ He knew he needed to take off his dive boots, for he couldn’t stay in his uniform indefinitely. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure exactly what would happen when he did so. And there was the time constraint, too. It would only be a matter of minutes before Virgil appeared in the locker room to extricate himself from his own uniform. And being seen by the engineer-come-self-taught-medic would lead to many complications.

Such as having to explain what on earth had happened.

On his first rescue. His _first_ rescue.

Scott hadn’t been injured on his first rescue. Neither had Virgil. John had been living unscathed in space for months. And Alan? The kid was still too young, though was chomping at the bit to get into the action.

No. The only one of them who had managed to get injured on their first rescue was Gordon. And _Christ_ , that fact almost hurt as much as the puncture wound.

Taking a deep breath, Gordon steeled his courage and started to pull off his boot. It was pure agony was it pulled away from his bare skin. He could have sworn that half the skin on the sole of his foot was being sloughed away, but it wasn’t. In fact, when he managed to pry the boot off, all that was there was a small, albeit nasty, hole in the bottom of his foot.

“Really?” he asked no one in particular. “That’s _it_?”

“What’s it?”

Chest tightening, Gordon slammed his foot on the ground – only to whimper in pain at his own stupidity. Virgil walked across, pulling off his gloves. At his brother’s wince, his expression darkened.

“Gordon, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gordon said.

Unfortunately, his words came out more like a squeaks than syllables. At that point, he knew he had really put his foot in it – excuse the pun.

“Gordon,” Virgil said, his tone low with warning. “What is wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Virg, really,” he said. “It’s just… I think I stepped on something during the mission. But it’s cool. It’s no big deal.”

Tutting, Virgil whipped off his second glove and crossed to the antibacterial cleanser dispenser on the wall.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said as he spread the gel over his hands. “Let me see.”

Desperately, Gordon tried to formulate some kind of plan to escape. But unless John had invented a transporter _a la_ Star Trek, there was no plausible escape. Thus, with a sigh, Gordon lifted his bare foot.

Virgil hissed a breath out between his teeth.

“ _Damn_ , Gordon,” he said. “What the heck did you do?”

“I think I stepped on a nail,” Gordon said.

The thinking part was a lie. He knew he had.

“Did you see the nail?” Virgil asked, kneeling down to get a closer look at his brother’s injured appendage. “Was it rusty?”

“Umm,” Gordon said, pretending to pull a memory from the back of his mind. “It might have been.”

Again, the might part was a lie. He knew it was.

“Well, just to be on the safe side, I’ll need to give you a shot. I can’t remember when your last tetanus booster was.”

At the word shot, Gordon froze. It was as if every molecule of water in his body had dropped to sub-zero temperatures all at once. _A shot. No. No way!_

Gordon Tracy was not afraid of needles. He’d seen enough of them in his time. That was not the problem. The issue was that he did not enjoy, and never had, the act of having a thin piece of metal _inserted into his skin_.

“It’s totally fine, Virg,” he said, trying to sound more cheery and less panicked. “I feel absolutely fine. It probably didn’t even go in that far.”

The waver in his voice banished any hope of Virgil believing his spiel. Gordon tried to tug his fioot away but his brother held it in place.

“Gordon, it’s a nasty wound,” Virgil said. “It looks like it _did_ go in pretty far. I’ll need to clean it out and keep a close watch on it for a few days in case of infection. But I will need to give you a shot. Just to be on the safe side.”

This time, Gordon tugged his foot away with more force. He winced as the wound jarred but planted it on the ground nonetheless.

“No, Virgil,” he said. “No needles. No bandaging. I can take care of myself.”

A delicate crease formed between his older brother’s thick eyebrows and Gordon gulped. _He’s not buying this at all_. Then Virgil’s mouth was moving, forming words that Gordon couldn’t hear. All of his brainpower was being funnelled into developing a plan of escape. And there was only one course of action available.

He _ran_.

“Gordon! What the _hell_?”

Every slap of his foot on the ground was pure agony, but Gordon kept running. There was something inside him that kept him going – even though he knew the irony was stark.

He was avoiding needles because of the pain. And in doing so, he was causing himself _more_ pain. _It makes no sense,_ the logical part of his brain thought. And yet he kept running.

By the time he made it up from the locker rooms, Alan and Scott had been dispatched to intercept him. They were waiting at the top of the kitchen stairs and at the top of the utility stairs Gordon used to get to Two. _Shit_ , he thought. _I need to get out of here!_

He turned tail and fled in the opposite direction. Where he was heading, he truly didn’t know.

“ _Gordon, what on Earth are you doing_?”

It was John’s disembodied voice coming out of his sash communicator. Gordon tried to ignore him but it was in vain. John was nothing if not persistent.

“ _Gordon! You need to stop this_ ,” John said. “ _None of this makes any sense. You’re making things worse for yourself! And all over nothing!_ ”

It was easy for John to say it was nothing. Gordon couldn’t name one thing his brother was afraid of. Bugs? Nope. Spiders? Nope. The dark? Nope. A lonely and explosive death in space by decompression? Not at all.

“ _Christ, Gordon, just_ stop it!”

Gordon did stop, then. It wasn’t because of the words. It was because of the _tone_. John never raised his voice. _Never_ , Gordon thought.

That fact in itself made him feel like he had been dunked in cold water. And reality came rushing back to him. _Why am I doing this?_

There was nothing but static on the line for a moment. John knew he had stopped. He would have been able to see the little dot that represented his brother stop in his madcap attempts to flee.

After a short time, John spoke again.

“ _Gordon, what’s brought all of this on_?”

The question burst the dam that was keeping all of Gordon’s frustrations at bay.

“I’m the only one who’s managed to screw up on their first rescue!” he said. “No one else did. Just me. Just stupid me.”

Leaning against the wall, Gordon squeezed his eyes shut as he heard footsteps thundering towards him from three different directions. His brothers were encroaching upon him, cornering their prey.

“ _Gordon_ ,” John said. “ _You don’t need to be so hard on yourself. It’s not a weakness to be injured by forces beyond your own control._ ”

The footsteps drew closer, but they were slower this time. _They must be listening in_ , Gordon thought. _They all know, now…_

Within a few seconds, Alan and Scott appeared. A few seconds after that, Virgil was there, too.

“Gordon,” Scott said, shaking his head as he approached. “John’s right. What was Dad’s favourite phrase?”

Chuckling, Gordon hopped on his one booted foot and grinned.

“Shit happens,” he said.

“Not to forget, ‘Life’s a bitch!’” Alan added, giggling at his use of a swear word.

Sometimes it was hard to forget the kid was so young. Not for John, though. His scathing _Alan!_ through the comm. made the kid look hang dog – though he still had a grin on his face.

Sighing, Gordon held up his hands in defeat and shook his head.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll come quietly.”

A look passed between Scott and Virgil. Then, the two older brothers made a ‘chair’ with their arms.

“Come on, you stubborn merman,” Virgil said. “You don’t need to use that foot any more than you already have.”

Blushing slightly, Gordon hopped forward – Alan hovering at one of his elbows – and settled himself into his brothers’ arms.

“Alright, slaves,” he said. “Bring me to the kitchen! I desire a snack!”

Alan burst into giggles. He could almost _see_ John’s eye roll from twenty-two thousand miles above them. Virgil snorted and Scott huffed out a breath.

“You know, we control where you go,” he said.

“Yeah,” Virgil added. “If you’re not nice to us, you might end up in the pool!”

“And how would that be a punishment?” Gordon asked.

Virgil made a noise as though he was about to speak, but no words came out. Eventually, he relented.

“Good point,” he said. “We could always dump you on the beach.”

“Or stick your head in the toilet!” Alan suggested.

Gordon cast him a venomous look.

“Less from you, young padawan,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what happens on your first mission.” He wrapped his arms around his older brothers’ arms and sat back.

“Now, mush!” he said. “To the kitchen!”

“To the garbage, more like,” Scott muttered.

After a beat, the brothers dissolved into laughter. Gordon shook his head and sighed. _Why was I so stupid in the first place?_ he asked. _Why did I run away like that?_

And then it hit him. _Oh yeah, needle. Well, maybe Virgil will relent._

“First things first,” Virgil said. “We need to get you to the sick room and I can give you that shot.”

_Shit_.


End file.
